The Other Side Of Normal
by Soncnica
Summary: Dean is stuck on the other side of normal, when a warlock shoots an arrow into his shoulder. Not fun. This is a remix of Enkidu07's "North Of Normal."


**So…this is chapter 2 of Enkidu07's fic 'North Of Normal', told from Sam's POV!**

**Thank you Mad Server **_hugs_** for your extremely awesome betaing, because people, if it wasn't for her, this fic would suck and it would just be a pile of incoherent babbling. And no, I'm not kidding! LOL **

**Enkidu07, if you read this, I hope I did an okay job! I'm completely aware that I probably screwed up at some places and I'm sorry for that! **_hugs _

**If you find mistakes…they are all my fault! I own nothing... nothing!!! Even the idea for this fic isn't mine. LOL  
**

**Enjoy…**

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Some days they should just stay in bed.

There's been four hours of catching his feet on fallen branches, stumbling forwards almost falling on all fours on many occasions, which of course spurred his big brother into numerous laughing fits, four hours of feeling his jeans stick to his legs like a second skin; the humidity was off the charts and he was wet from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toenails. There's been four hours of hiking through bushes and undergrowth, four hours of stupid insects that already bit every inch of skin he wasn't hiding under his clothes, four hours of nothing and four hours of Dean's stupid jokes and Sam just can't take it anymore.

Just when he's about to tell his big brother that he's had enough and that their latest pray is just shy and that it just won't show, he hears a distinctive _thwap _and sees something sticking out of Dean's right shoulder that definitely shouldn't be there.

The spirit is there, among the trees… the green leaves in such contrast to his brown shirt with long sleeves and baggy pants; long red, blue and yellow bird feathers stuck in his long black hair, black color painted around his piercing eyes, two red stripes painted on each of his cheeks, his white teeth shining from slightly parted red lips. The warlock… smiling its last smile, because when Sam hits it with an arrow of his own… the spirit vanishes, taking its smile with it.

There is no time for a victory dance though, because Dean is on the ground with his knees digging into the dirt, blinking as if trying to dislodge his eyes; hit and bleeding and _crap, he pulled out the arrow._

Sam falls down on his knees in front of his brother, the ground soft with fallen leaves and needles, his knees becoming wetter when they hit the soggy ground, his hands slippery from sweat when he touches Dean's biceps and pulls him forward. He can feel Dean tense up for a moment but that quickly vanishes into: "Sam, I think the arrow had the toxin on it."

_No shit, Sherlock. We read about it. _

Dean's been hit…with a poisoned arrow…hallucinations, paranoia…it'll occur fast if it hasn't yet.

_Think fast, boy_…his father's words arean echo in Sam's mind.

"Okay. Okay, Dean."

He starts to pull Dean forward, waiting for the weight of Dean's head to hit his chest all the while struggling with Dean's attempts to pull away: "Sam," his brother keeps trying, "it'll make me paranoid. You gotta clean it out."

_I know, man. I know._

"Dean, I know," Sam shoots back, holding on strong and already digging in Dean's pack at his side."Calm down. Holy water should neutralize it."

There are all sorts of things in Dean's pack… M&M's the yellow pack of course, which would count for food, if the bag wasn't three quarters empty, first aid kit, chocolate, Sam thinks Snickers, but with Dean it could be anything, a bottle of water, that should be cold, but is actually boiling hot when his knuckles graze the plastic, a fresh shirt, that is actually not fresh, because the chocolate melted and ewww, yeah, there is melted chocolate on the shirt. When he's sure he got all the chocolate off his fingers, Sam touches a Swiss army knife, a flask of whiskey, _always come prepared_ and there's bound to be a flask of holy water too. Somewhere beneath all the crap.

"Sam."

Sam can hear the panic in Dean's voice, can feel it settle in his own heart too.

But then his fingers brush a flask and he knows, just like he knows a lot of things, that this is the flask he's been looking for. Holy water.

"Sam."

Dean's voice is quieter now than it was a few seconds ago, but the grip he has on Sam's shirt is stronger and Sam almost wishes he could pry his brother's hands away from his shirt, because the death grip Dean has…hurts his mind but not this skin…Dean hasn't gotten there yet.

_Gotta move fast…_

In one smooth, efficient movement, he grasps the back tail of Dean's shirt, the wet cotton sticking to his fingers and Dean's back making the pulling up of the shirt hard and sticky; like pulling off a bandage. He traps Dean's hands in the fabric, his brother's fingers still entwined in his flannel and he can't care about the death grip Dean has there, because he just exposed his brother's smooth back to the sticky evening air and his eyes roam all over Dean's shoulder, finally catching Dean's wound in his eyes.

"Huh," Sam murmurs, "it's not even bleeding."

It is actually…a lot. Sam mentally hits himself over the head for lying to his brother, but on the other hand, the blood is running down Dean's back and Sam is surprised Dean isn't feeling this. Lying to his brother is bad, bad, bad, but Dean is really starting to show some effects of the poison and he really didn't want to scare Dean any more then he probably already is. And there is something black there too…looks like dust.

"Dean, it looks like a black powder. I'm going to rinse it out before any more gets in. Hold on."

His brother is an incoherent mess of mumbling sounds and incoherent ramblings that mean noting to Sam. There is talk about shadows and pulsars that are trees, and that the trees are moving towards them and yeah…a mess of sounds. But when Sam feels Dean bury his face deeper into his chest, all that…stops. The press of Dean's nose on his chest is welcomed, and the ragged breaths that Sam feels coming from his brother, when they hit his wet shirt, making it warm…it's calming in a way…a sign that Dean is still with him, alive but just a bit on the other side of normal.

Sam has no choice, sees nothing in front of him, but Dean's sweat slick skin, trembling muscles, bowed spine with some vertebras sticking out, the wound and the flask of holy water. When he finally manages to open the little bottle, with sweating, shaking hands and a pinch in his own back, that has him pressing into Dean, some stray drops fall on Dean's back, making a sizzling sound that has Sam hissing.

Here goes nothing, Sam thinks when he drips some more drops over the wound. The effect that has on Dean, makes Sam's heart jump into his stomach. Dean is like a wild animal, bucking and trying to pull away, pulling at Sam's shirt, pushing himself away and pulling himself back into Sam's chest.

It hurts when Dean's cheek hits the spot right above his heart, it hurts when Dean's fingers graze one of his nipples, it hurts when Dean bucks away with Sam's shirt in his grip almost making him choke, it hurts when Dean's forehead hits a little more to the right then his heart is and knocks the air right out of Sam's lungs and it hurts when Dean's struggles bring the sound of moving earth to Sam's ears.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down, man. Come on…you hear me? Dean, calm down, come on man. Dean?"

He grunts when Dean's fingers finally find skin alongside his shirt. Sam is sure he will find bleeding marks on his chest when he'll remove his shirt later.

_Okay, this isn't working…_

He shifts Dean around until he has his left arm under Dean's chest, leaving his brother hunched over, folded on the ground, his left shoulder tucked tight into his abdomen. It's kind of hard to breathe, what with Dean pressing into his guts like that. But…he can't let go. Can't let his brother fall face down on the ground. He has to be the focal point of his brother's attempts at calming down.

Sam can see Dean's hands flying all over the air and all over the floor and all over Sam. And then Sam feels Dean settle down, find his anchor on Sam's side and thigh, breathing hard and flexing his fingers on Sam's jeans. If Dean's fingernails wouldn't be blunt and Sam's jeans wouldn't be such a tight fit in the humid air, Dean's hand would be fisting the jeans and not Sam's skin.

"Dean. Time out. Relax for a second."

He can't do anything to his brother for a while. He needs to give Dean some time to catch his breath. They both need some time to breathe.

But after giving Dean a brief moment to collect himself, things will need to be done…

"Dean, I have to flush the wound. It's gonna hurt, but I've got you, okay? Just hang in there."

_I have to do this, have to, okay, okay… let's do this._

His brother's grip is still strong which is good, really good. It means Dean is still semi okay, still here and fighting; clawing his way back from the other side of being normal. Still has his strength to fight whatever this is.

Sam can feel Dean's whole body flinch away slightly, and he hasn't even done anything. Yet.

He takes a deep breath and pours some more water on the wound.

"Dean, 's okay, man. 'S okay. You're okay, you're fine. 'S okay."

It's a weird litany of words that flows out of Sam's mouth. It's an impulse he's listening to; an impulse to say them over Dean's struggles to grab hold of something; or run away from something.

When the water loses its power, Dean is a dead weight on Sam.

"Dean?"

Sam can see Dean make a jerky motion with his headand he interprets it as "That really sucked but I'm okay and we shall never speak of this again but don't let go yet because I'll end up with my face in the mud," and he hopes that he made the right interpretation and doesn't move a muscle. He can't. He can't move over the small hitches he can hear coming out of his brother's mouth…he can feel them where his hand is pressed to Dean's body…he can feel his brother struggling to breathe.

"Shhhh, Dean. I think I got most of the powder washed out. And it's bleeding... looks normal. I'm out of water but we'll flush it again back at the hotel." He makes a pause, really not wanting to add the next part but… "Might take a few stitches."

Telling Dean that is like ripping off a band-aid. Gotta do it fast or else the pain is unbearable.

And Sam thinks that Dean took it quite well. Dry heaving into the dirt is always a good sign that Dean's taking things well and that he's still alive and listening and yeah…in pain.

He tries to smooth out the shivers and shakes going through Dean's body, his hand rubbing strongly over Dean's back; up and down, up and down, his palm feeling the spine almost break in half when Dean heaves, and then smooth back out when Dean stops. And the whole process repeats itself over and over again.

"Easy. Go easy. The hard part's done. Just take it easy."

Sam squeezes the soft flesh by Dean's side; either to steady Dean or take his focus away from the pain of dry heaving into the leaves, he's not sure. He just does it and repeats the words: "Easy. Go easy. The hard part's done. Just take it easy," like a broken record…soothing and calming.

When Sam feels Dean slowing down a bit and pushing himself into a sitting position, Sam grunts because that just pressed Dean harder to his chest… okay in a more vertical position, but… still there, stealing away some of his breath. The solid weight of his big brother against his own heaving chest. He shifts a little, not really wanting to dislodge Dean from his position, snuggled to his chest, and pulls down Dean's shirt. If the blood didn't make everything wet, the water sure did; Dean's back, his shirt, his jeans, his hands, the ground…everything.

At least the wound has stopped bleeding like crazy. Sam knows he didn't do anything to stop the bleeding so he thinks that it's probably because he washed away the black powder. Well, he hopes so.

Having Dean pressed into his chest like that… it's doing nothing for Sam's 'cooling system'. He feels himself starting to sweat a hell of a lot more than he was a second ago and he feels Dean doing the same. Their shirts will be soaked in sweat by the time they'll be up from the floor. Sam's mind goes to the spare shirt, but then the stickiness of his fingers reminds him that the shirt is… chocolaty. Dean will just have to dirty up his car, no way around it.

When he sees Dean staring into space, chasing trees with the greenness of his eyes, he starts digging in the backpack, his fingers once again bumping into all kinds of things…

"Dean? Here."

Pain pills are always awesome, but when Dean shakes his head and a gruff voice comes out of his mouth saying: "Feel fuzzy, Sam," Sam starts to feel a bit fuzzy himself. It's the heat and the exhaustion, Sam tells himself, and not because Dean said that. Because Dean declined pain pills or because he voiced out what's happening to him… no… it's the heat and the exhaustion, Sam tells himself, although it sort of is because Dean voiced that out.

_Yeah…_

Sam nods, not wanting to spook out Dean even more than he's already spooked out.

"Okay. Okay. Can you make it back to the car?"

Sam doesn't get a reply or a nod with a head or a grunt or anything. He only gets Dean pushing off, kneeling in the dirt with no support whatsoever, little hitches of breath, a whimper, scrunching of his face and Sam can't take it anymore.

He grabs Dean by his arms and hauls him up…slowly. No need for a head rush now. Under his hands Dean feels like a new born coltall wobbly legs and uncoordination of pretty much every part of his body. Sam huffs and keeps a light pace, one that Dean can follow, and keeps one hand on his brother's back and the other one on his wound. Everything is slippery; the sweat, the blood, holy water…it makes his hands tingle and slip.

Sitting his brother, that is staring at some nice looking rock in the forest, in the passenger seat, Sam gets the first aid kit out of the trunk.

For a moment he thinks that, maybe, just maybe, he should tell Dean that his shirt is so dirty that dirt seems clean in comparisment, but he thinks that Dean is probably too far gone to even care. But Sam knows in the back of his head, that he will never hear the end of it when Dean finally gets back to normal. He can just hear it now... why did you let me sit in my baby all bloody? Why didn't you at least put something on the seat? Why didn't you take off my shirt? Why, why, why... Sam rolls his eyes and smiles at the thought that Dean will get back to normal eventually.

He has to pry Dean's eyes from that rock, that is looking mighty innocent in Sam's eyes, but you never know with Dean, and shakes the kit in front of Dean's eyes: "You want me to numb it now or back at the hotel?"

When Dean shifts in the seat and grunts, Sam's eyes widen, in preparation for what's to come, what incoherent mumbling, but Dean just says: "It's okay. Save it for when you stitch it."

Being in the Impala is… strange to say the least. Sam can hear Dean pacing his breathing and he pushes his thoughts into a spiral of 'everything is okay with your brother, the wound is clean, Dean is gonna be fine, just stitch him up and everything will be okay again.'

By the time they hit the highway that spiral of words gets imprinted in Sam's mind and he never even realizes when he paced his own breathing to Dean's. He smiles and chances a glance in his brother's direction. Dean is biting at his lower lip, probably biting back grunts and whimpers.

Sam would say something, but it's better if he just keeps his eyes on the road and just presses on the accelerator.

_Yeah…_

Seeing the hotel lights flicker, Sam pulls in and parks the Impala somewhere safe. Or so he hopes.

Dean is slow to walk up to the room's door and Sam keeps and eye on him, watching him. He grabs the kit and ushers his brother in.

"Sit down."

Sam can see Dean jump and softens his tone: "How're you doing? Some of the toxin probably got in your bloodstream. Feeling anxious?"

Sam_ looks_ and starts walking around the room.

He pulls off his coat and his brother is a mess of twitching limbs.

Dean's hands are shaking, when he rubs them together nervously, rubbing his stomach one second and rubbing his forearm the next.

His eyes are surrounded with fear, even though he's looking down, but Sam can tell. He has seen fear in his brother's eyes on more then one occasion. Dean's eyes are open wide one second and closing the next.

Sam's eyes glance down at Dean's hands gripping the edge of his shirt, with white knuckles; fisting the material like his life depended on it. Maybe it does, Sam thinks and blinks his way up Dean's heaving chest to look at his sweaty face again.

There is a river of sweat running down Dean's temple and cheek, but his brother doesn't even notice the drop of sweat that's slowly making its way down to his throat.

When he goes to wash his hands, to finally get rid of the chocolate, the blood and the holy water, he sees Dean being nervous and that… that answers Sam's question. He cocks his head and narrows his eyes when he scans over Dean's rigid shoulders and alert posture. He sums everything he sees up and… _yeah… anxious… most definitely._

He searches the kit for everything he's gonna need and finding it, he looks back at Dean, saying: "I'll numb your shoulder before I clean it again. I want to make sure I got as much out as possible. Then a couple stitches."

The syringe is heavy in his hands for such a small thing. His hands aren't even shaking when he fills the syringe with ease, not even blinking when it fills to the right amount. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Dean pulling off his shirt.

He moves close to his brother and grips him by his good shoulder. There are no words needed and Sam just nods near Dean's scared eyes and carefully turns him around. He can feel his brother tense at his touch. Dean's feet feel numb to Sam when they scratch the carpet when he slowly turns.

The alcohol burns Sam's eyes when he pours a little of it on some cotton; it's cool under his fingers, has that distinctive smell that always reminds him of hospitals. But they're not in a hospital, are they? They are in a motel room, and his big brother is no where near normal.

Sam breathes in and wipes the alcohol next to the wound. It looks absolutely gruesome. There is no other word in Sam's mind that would describe it better.

It's a hole… dried blood hanging to the edges of it, dried blood on Dean's back, running all the way down to his waist where it hangs on to his jeans' waistband. Dean's muscles are tensing and Sam can feel it. And just a second later Dean pushes around: "Sam."

His name being spoken with that voice makes him pause.

"Yeah?"

He looks into Dean's eyes, sees fear shining in them, sees them flicker first to the alcohol wipe in one hand and the needle in the other.

"Uh," Sam waits patiently for Dean to put the scattered pieces of the puzzle that is him, back into place: "Go slow, okay? That stuff burns."

Sam smiles: "You got it."

Sam focuses on the thought that this is Dean's back to him; sweaty, warm, pale, freckled back. He has to make this as painless as possible. He squirts out some of the liquid, gets rid of any air that might have been in there, sees the liquid fly in an arch to the pillow, and presses the needle to Dean's flesh and pushes. The needle makes a dent in the skin at first and then after some more pressure the needle breaks the delicate skin, the muscle. There is a bit of resistance, but he just applies more pressure and the needle slides in. He pauses and feels, right through the needle that is connecting him to his brother, when Dean takes a deep breath. It jars his finger on the plunger and when Dean hums out a moan, Sam puts pressure on his finger and watches as the liquid disappears under his brother's skin.

Sam's breathing steady. He's done this so many times and panicking or freaking out does nothing to help; he knows that. He breathes steady, hoping that Dean will catch on and relax.

He withdraws the needle, slowly, not wanting to shake the wound or make Dean… hurt.

He places the syringe on the bedside table and grips Dean's biceps and eases him down on his stomach. Dean is heavy, all muscles and invisible strength and Sam has some trouble lowering his brother onto the bed, when all that invisible strength fights back. He wants to say something to Dean, to ease his mind, to get him to relax, but all he can do, is grip Dean tight and push him down on the bed. He watches Dean loose his hands into the comforter as soon as his chest touches the bed and lowers his voice into something low and hopefully soothing: "It's okay, Dean. I'm gonna make it okay."

He can hear Dean choke out a laugh, or maybe it's just a weird attempt to breathe. Whatever it is, Sam knows Dean is scared. No matter what, Dean is scared.

Fumbling with another syringe he jumps when Dean's unsteady voice reaches him.

"What the hell is that?"

He turns around and sees Dean push up from the bed in fear. He raises his hands: "Easy, there's no needle. I'm just going to use it to make sure it's totally flushed out."

He pushes some of the air out, just to prove to Dean that the tube ends in a blunt tip that will control the stream of water. He doesn't move, just holds out everything to Dean for inspection, and when his brother is seemingly satisfied, he sees him lay back prone on the covers.

He fills the syringe with water. It's odd how the water swirls into the tube. It's mesmerizing to say the least.

Turning back around, he comes face to face with the wound again. It's a hole. A messy hole. And the crusted blood looks so very red on Dean's freckled shoulder blade. And the wound is moving up and down when Dean tries to breathe**.**

He grips Dean's shoulder; it's warm under his palm and herubs his thumb softly over the warm, sweaty skin there. Back and forth, drawing lines of calmness.

"You okay?"

He sees Dean nod.

"Okay. Here we go. You want me to tell you what I'm doing?"

He sees Dean trying to throw him a look over his shoulder and it comes out as 'this pie so ain't sweet enough' look, that Sam has seen a million times before. He narrows his eyes in confusion, because there is no pie miles around and watches as his brother buries his face back into the pillow.

_Huh…_

Swiftly breaking though the confusion Sam pushes some of the water into and around the wound, sees how the dried blood becomes wet again and how it slides down Dean's shoulder and neck to get soaked up by the pillow, before he has a chance to wipe it off.

Sam can feel Dean tensing up and pushing forward into the bed, and he tightens his grip on his brother's shoulder. He keeps Dean in place and stops everything he's doing.

"Does it hurt?"

Sam can see Dean shake his head: "Uhhhh… just surprised me."

He returns his attention back to cleaning Dean's wound. The blood mixes with the water, cascading down Dean's skin. It really is surreal. There is a hole in his brother's shoulder blade and he's not even freaking out about it. Just goes to show how weird their lives really are.

He has his hand on Dean's shoulder all the time, feeling the skin there becoming sweat slick and warmer then it was before. He never releases it, just wanting his brother to have a focus point in all of this. Oh, he knows Dean's focus points… he knows them all to well.

The area around the wound is red, agitated, angry looking. But he can't do anything about it so he pushes the last drops of water around the wound and wipes away the blood: "Okay, almost done."

He tosses the syringe onto the bedside table and pulls out the suture kit. How many times has he done this? He lost count somewhere around thirty, and even this stitching up job gets lost in time too. He does it slowly, in and out pushes of the needle, neat little stitches that would make any professor of medicine proud.

He bandages it up with white gauze that turns a smidge bloody in a minute. Standing up from the bed, he goes to pull out a soda from the fridge: "Drink this. It'll settle your stomach."

He looks down at the same time as Dean looks up and their eyes lock together, a question in Dean's tired eyes.

_Oh, bro, I know you like the back of my pocket_, Sam thinks and pushes the soda into Dean's hand when he pulls himself to a sitting position: "Just be careful while it's numb and don't pull out the stitches," he cautions.

"I'm gonna shower. You okay?"

"Yeah," a pause, "how long do you think the toxin lasts?"

Sam looks at Dean. Truly looks at him and sees all the things he saw before and more.

"Well, the legend said that he would use it in the nightly ceremony. If he had to dose them every night, then you should be good by tomorrow."

He sees Dean nod, with sweaty hair and sunken eyes and when Dean's white lips spread into a grin, Sam knows that Dean can do a day.

"Don't use all the hot water."

"Dean, you can't get those stitches wet until tomorrow anyway."

Sam sees Dean avert his eyes to a passing headlight and then look back at him: "Just… make it quick."

Sam knows what Dean means. He knows all to well. Dean needs him here to be his focus point. Sam knows.

"Oh. Yeah. No problem."

He leaves the bathroom door cracked open a little when he goes to shower. The water washing away Dean's blood from his hands. Again. And not for the last time either.

When he comes out of the bathroom he finds Dean lying on the bed… breathing easy but still on the other side of normal. Sam knows.

**---**

**The End**


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